Scribbles
by purplemud
Summary: Scribble11: Luna had already warned me that those were the kind of boys who wouldn’t know how to kiss a girl properly and I plan on being kissed properly the first time
1. Empty

Scribbles  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, I'll let you in on what would happen in the final book. (snickers). Oh, and Hermione would be treated better.  
Parings: R/Hr-sih in a sad sort of way. (Sorry, I am too attached to my pumpkin pies)  
Summary: Scribble #1: Hermione used to think that being in love with Ron was just perfect. It was what was right, what was easier, what was meant to be, bound, destined to happen.  
Spoilers: Books 1-5-ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Would love feedback. Much.

#1

**Empty**

Hermione used to think that being in love with Ron was just perfect. It was what was right, what was easier, what was meant to be, bound, destined to happen. Everything that she did, that he did, led towards that inevitable moment when they'd fall madly into each other's arms and… and…

And always, this was where she couldn't picture doing anything else with Ron.

They'd fall madly into each other's arm and then nothing. _Nothing_ would follow that train of thought, that daydream…

It was as if that was how it would end for them.

Hermione knew that it wasn't how love should work. It certainly would start there, that initial mind blowing spark and then from there, everything would begin. But how come she couldn't think of anything else after that? She couldn't even envision walking around the lake with Ron because she knew that he'd eventually get bored by it. Ron thrived on action. He wasn't the broody, quite sort of guy. Long, aimless, silent walks would bore him to his death. He'd insist on engaging her on some conversation and that would ultimately lead to another row with him.

It wasn't the first time Hermione acknowledge the fact that she and Ron were complete polar opposites. But that didn't mean their relationship can't work and survive. Sure, it meant a whole lot of work on their part: a lot of compromising and endless, boundless, limitless amount of patience, which sadly, neither one of them can seem to manage.

She hated arguing with Ron but he always seemed to know what to say or do to hurt her the most. But didn't she love Ron? Didn't she get jealous when Ron and Lavender started snogging each other senseless?

What they have – the endless arguments and flocks of angry, twittering yellow birds put aside – wasn't it all worth it? She used to believe in that and now… well… well...

Sometimes, the answer to those questions seemed so out of her reach but then there were times when the answers were so blindingly obvious and yet… she refused to give up.

Hermione closed her eyes again: she and Ron would fall madly into each other's arms and… and… and…

And always, the blankness that followed would leave her feeling so terribly empty.


	2. Waiting

Scribbles  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, I'll let you in on what would happen in the final book. (snickers). Oh, and Hermione would be treated better.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #2: Fight for him, Gin. Or else, I would and then… then I'd never let him go.  
Spoilers: Books 1-5-ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much.

**#2**

**Waiting**

She would watch Harry from the corner of her eyes. She'd never really let her stare linger. Just watch him for a second or two and then look away. It wasn't because she thought there wasn't any point to it. It was because she knew that she couldn't make him happy.

Not yet anyway. Or at least, not in the way Ginny was making him happy and Harry needed to be happy, which was why she wasn't jealous of Ginny.

In fact, to be honest, she was a little sad for Ron's little sister.

Harry wasn't just some boy you love. No. He was someone that you eventually have fight for and never let go – because everyone seemed to think that he belonged to them, everyone gets to have dibs on The Boy He Lived - and if you let him, Harry'd gladly give himself away.

She wondered if Ginny had realized this.

But maybe not.

She remembered the night Harry kissed Ginny in front of every Gryffindor – his green eyes flashing, his face glowing and when it was all over, when the excitement of bearing witness to the birth of the golden couple had subsided, Ginny came to her, clutching her hand, squeezing it so painfully, the next morning she still had moon-shaped imprints on her palm.

But even when Ginny's nails dug deep into her skin, Hermione didn't even wince or flinch. Something had made her numb that night.

He chose her.

She wasn't even an option.

Harry chose Ginny.

_"What is it, Ginny?" She had asked, wondering if she could go through with this, knowing that she would. After all, hadn't she spent so many hours with Ginny patiently telling her not to lose hope? To just wait._

_Ginny had done her waiting and now what? Was she still supposed to sit with her and listen to her whispered confessions of how Harry tasted like? How he smelled? How burning his touches were?_

_"Oh, Hermione, Hermione!"__ Ginny said her voice hoarse and low. "He's mine now, Hermione, he's really mine now. And I'm…I'm so happy. So, very, very happy!" Ginny was practically crying now and Hermione could only nod her head for she knew how Ginny felt. Knew exactly every emotion running behind her eyes. _

_Hermione had felt that too. Every little glance, every little smile, every little off-handed compliment Harry had given her – she had felt the very same thing. Except, Hermione thought swallowing hard, except now of course, after this, there would always be a sharp dull pain that would accompany those feelings. _

_"Thank you, Hermione." Ginny was saying, beaming brightly, cheeks flushed red and eyes bright. "You were right, you were absolutely right about everything!"_

_"Of course I was right." She replied and not for the first time in her life, Hermione hated it that she was right. _

_She watched as Ginny turned her head to look at Harry who was animatedly talking to Ron. As though feeling Ginny's stare on him Harry suddenly stopped mid sentence and met Ginny's eyes with a small nod, the crooked, lopsided grin on his face slowly blossoming into a smile until he was practically beaming at Ginny._

_The smile seemed to have some secret message that only Ginny and Harry could understand because Ginny's smile only grew brighter and brighter and brighter._

_Hermione could only gently squeezed Ginny's hand back. "I'm glad Ginny. I'm glad." _

And maybe, she was. At least now, she could stop hoping and wondering. She knew now: He chose her. She didn't have to wait anymore. Her waiting was over, just as Ginny's were.

Later that night, when she couldn't close her eyes without seeing purple and green streaks flashing inside her head, she whispered, like a prayer: "Fight for him, Gin. Or else, I would and then… then I'd never let him go."


	3. Her Name

Scribbles  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, I'll let you in on what would happen in the final book. (snickers). Oh, and Hermione would be treated better.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #3: He never says my name that way: slightly choked up, filled with confused wonder and something...something so raw and _precious._  
Spoilers: Books 1-5-ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much.

**#3**

**Her Name**

It isn't like I never notice anything. I do. I'm not blind. Not like Hermione of course, who could be all high and mighty when she wants to be, but who really is clueless about the simplest of things.

_Harry loves her._

This realization came to me two nights ago when Harry finally woke up. He had been asleep for three days and I had sat by his side, patiently waited for him to wake up and open his eyes. When he finally did, he asked for Ron first and then Hermione and then Lupin and then Hagrid.

The rest of the Hogwarts population, really.

It was fine with me. I didn't want to be petty.

Besides, Harry was talking to me. Of course, he wouldn't ask for me. I was already there, by his side, holding his hand as I told him that they were all fine, waiting for him to finally wake up.

He had smiled his lost, happy smile and then closed his eyes.

I won't lie. I wish he could've at least said my name. Once would be nice. But he was tired. So I just let him sleep.

In the morning, when he woke up, he asked for the same people again, in the same order, but my name had yet to fall from his lips.

It finally did, when he asked me if I could call Ron and Hermione: "Could you call them, Ginny?"

Yes. And I did. And I watch them by the door as Ron sat at the foot of Harry's bed, Hermione silently sitting on the chair I had sat upon three nights in a row, watching and waiting and hoping and dreaming away with eyes wide open.

And then, I hear him say her name the way I had always hoped he would say my name: _"Hermione."_

He never says my name that way: slightly choked up, filled with confused wonder and something...something so raw and _precious_.

There isn't anyway to describe it – but the way he says her name, it pierces my heart and I know.

I know.


	4. By The Lake

Scribbles  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, there won't be any giant anvils, just good old yummy pumpkin pies.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #4: They were truly a beautiful couple, Hermione thought. James and Lily misplaced. Wrong time. Wrong era. Wrong decade. But there they were.  
Spoilers: Books 1-5-ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much.

**# 4 **

**By The Lake **

One day, she was out, walking by the lake and she stumbled upon Harry and Ginny.

They were cuddled underneath a massive old tree, hands, fingers, arms and legs entwined and touching. He was staring far off into the horizon and Ginny had her face upturned, looking up at him.

It was the first time that she had seen them together – alone, without Ron or any of their friends surrounding them. Today, they were free from the casual and not so casual glances from the people that would usually surround them and Hermione sought to capture all the detail.

Everything around them was tranquil and calm and so very, very still. Everything was dream-perfect. It was almost too surreal.

Her eyes sought Harry's face first. He was deeper into the shadow, partly hidden. But Hermione could see him idly playing with the ends of Ginny's red locks, twirling it absentmindedly around and around his fingers.

The sunset made Ginny's hair look like blooming red flames, like she was wearing a golden-red halo. It made her look like she was glowing bright fiery red. Ginny was so much prettier than Cho, Hermione thought, her heart constricting painfully. Cho who always reminded Hermione of expensive porcelain dolls didn't look anywhere near as pretty as Ginny.

Harry definitely thought so too.

Over the course of one year, a summer, really Ginny bloomed into… well, into something that every Gryffindor girl wanted to be. Gold-copper hair, blue, blue eyes, an excellent Quidditch Player, smart, brave and most of all Harry Potter's girlfriend. Hermione had heard freshmen girls and boys swooning over Ginny.

If anyone would ever compare _her_ to Ginny – well it would be quite obvious why she was here, spying on them, instead of being inside Harry's arm.

Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head. She will not do this to Harry and to Ginny. Ginny deserved better. She's Ron sister's to begin with. To think of her this way was almost like betraying Ron. She's also her friend, they had grown up together, had been silly girls together: staying up late wondering about boys, trying to decide what color of dresses suited them best. Ginny was more than just a pretty face, Hermione knew that.

And Harry – she had known Harry all her life – he had become part of her world. Her relationship with Harry (and Ron as well) had become an essential part of who she was, who she is. To even think that Harry could and would fall for mere looks alone was demeaning to their friendship.

More importantly, she wasn't going to do this to herself. She and Ginny were completely on the different ends of the spectrum. Everything that Ginny was, Hermione was the complete opposite. To keep on comparing herself to Ginny was not only painful, it was also futile.

_He chose her_, Hermione reminded herself, more sternly this time. She cut her eyes away from the couple, repeating the words over and over again, hoping that one day, it would somehow lessen the pain, stop the glowing, white-hot, almost childlike, almost desperate hope inside her chest.

Sometimes, Hermione thought, sometimes she wished so hard that it had been her who had ran towards Harry that day in the common room, that it had been her that Harry had clutched against him, had kissed so fiercely and freely.

Hermione heard Ginny giggle softly. Eyes drawn to them, she watched as the youngest Weasley gently pushed Harry away, untangling his fist from her hair. She smoothed down the small irregular curls and waves that Harry's fingers had made, softly, playfully chastising Harry.

They were truly a beautiful couple, Hermione thought.

James and Lily misplaced. Wrong time. Wrong era. Wrong decade. But there they were.

Something tugged desperately inside her chest. It was a sharp, painful little punch that reminded her of Doholov's curse hitting her right through her heart.

This was wrong. She shouldn't.

Hermione closed her eyes and took small steps backward before turning her head and quietly walking away, realizing intruding this way was completely out of character of her. It was disrespectful. She had no right.

It was then, at that moment, with her head held up, shoulders tensed and squared that she decided if she was going to look at Harry the way Ginny was looking at him now: eyes wide and so full with love and adoration, she was going to make sure that Harry was staring back at her and not looking off into the distance.

She was going to force him to look at her and pay attention.

_This is how I feel for you, Harry and you better look at me, right into my eyes and know it. And feel it. And want it. And need it. _

And Harry would know everything that was inside her and he would understand and he would lean over to gently brush a strand of strangly brown her hair off from her face, thumb, skin barely grazing her cheeks. It would tingle, Hermione was quite sure of that.

He would whisper: I know, Hermione. I know.

And then Harry would kiss her and she would never, ever need words again. She would know just how deep and how strong their love is.

Hermione closed her eyes, briefly relishing the day dream.

But of course, she wasn't Ginny.

And Harry certainly wasn't going to look at her long enough to even realize what color her eyes were.


	5. No One Else

Scribbles  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, there won't be any giant anvils, just good old yummy pumpkin pies.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #5: I share him with Hermione. I will always share him with Hermione.  
Spoilers: Books 1-5-ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much.

POV: Ginny  
Book: Post Book6/7 

**#5**

**No One Else **

Harry watches her.

It's the second time that day that I catch Harry's eyes lingering over to Hermione.

Hermione isn't doing anything fantastically interesting. She' reading a book and Harry has seen her read a thousand books a thousand times before and yet he watches her, his green eyes intense and so very, very dark – like he's waiting for something, some sign, waiting for Hermione's eyes to meet his.

How could Hermione not feel his gaze on her?

But how could I know that? I haven't looked underneath the table. Maybe if I do, I'd see Hermione's hands clenched in tight little fists, so tight her knuckles are turning white. But I don't. I keep my eyes on Harry.

I never try to look too closely at her, because if I did, I might see her biting her trembling lips, might see her eyes screwed shut, all the words in the book lost to her.

Alright. Maybe I am a little blind as well.

I guess we all try not to see the things that we don't want to see.

Whenever I catch Harry gazing at Hermione with that lost, almost pained expression in his face, I would call his name and he'd immediately turn his head to look at me, eyebrows arching up and polite as always, he would ask: "Yes, Gin?"

I appreciate his effort to make it look as though I would always have his attention.

I don't. I know I don't.

I share him with Hermione.

I will always share him with Hermione.

And something in me knows that Hermione would always come first, even if Harry hadn't even realized it yet.

It doesn't stop me from wanting it to be me, though.

"Yes, Gin?" Harry asks again, green eyes so inquisitive, so familiar and unfamiliar all at the same time. As always, I shake my head, smile and lace my fingers through his hand.

He never lets go. Harry's not that kind of guy. He'd press his fingers against mine. I don't know if he means to be reassuring or it's just second nature to him to acknowledge any form of physical contact but it doesn't really matter. I would always see that flash of agony in his eyes. And even before I could think up of the possible reason behind that look, always, it would be gone in a second and he would smile at me.

That small, heart wrenching horrible smile that I hate.

I hate it because it's his saddest smile ever and I never know who he's sorry for. If it was for me, or for him, or for Hermione or for the two of them and for what he thinks could never, ever be. But despite all these, I smile back at him and gently squeeze his fingers.

I think maybe, I'm sorry too.

I'm sorry for both of us. For all of us.

Sometimes, I really don't mind it. He loves Hermione, so what? Harry has always been capable of love – for a boy who had never really known love until he came to Hogwarts, he has a lot to give. He loves my brother too. In fact, he loves all of them, even Percy, I think.

But with Hermione, though, I know it's different. For one thing, she's not part of our family. And she's a girl. Even if most of the time, she doesn't act like one. I know for a fact that Ron had noticed that she's a girl and there's certainly no reason for Harry not to notice it too.

I had asked him outright, several times if he loved Hermione and he had always answered evasively. I prodded, begged and then one day, tearfully threatened him.

I had been in a jealous fit that day. He had missed going to Hogsmeade with me. His reason: Hermione needed him. It seemed as though she and my brother had another row that day and Ron had said something that truly upset Hermione. Harry had only comforted Hermione, as he had told me, but did it have to take all day to hold Hermione's hand and assure her that she and Ron would still end up together?

Harry and I, we never had big, awful arguments. Always, if a fight was on the verge of starting, he'd relent. He'd let me have my way, he'd agree with me or he'd just sigh and say: "let's forget about it Gin." Whatever I wanted, he'd let me have it. But that day, for the first time since he kissed me, he looked at me with angry green eyes.

I didn't care if I made him angry. I wanted to know. Did he love Hermione?

Yes.

He did.

He loved her.

The way he said it, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion – well, I figured, there could never be anything sort of romantic about the kind of love he has for her if he could say it like that.

"As a sister." Harry had added, his voice rough and hoarse. I remember him repeating it, as though I hadn't heard it or he hadn't heard himself. At that time it didn't seem so odd to me. All I could think of was I still have him. Harry's still mine. I could have his arms wrapped around me when I want to, when I ask him to. And I have all of his kisses as well.

What did Hermione have? Nothing. Just his friendship. A few hours, a few moments with him.

I don't mind at all.

All that changed however when I asked him once more. We were out by the Quidditch field and he was trying to tie his shoe laces. I had been in a teasing sort of mood as I sat down next to him and started asking him if he had loved Cho (he laughingly answered: No) and Fleur (he had stammered about for a while and acknowledge, that even if he didn't love her, he found her attractive nonetheless) and then I asked if he loved Hermione.

I remember the way he slowly tilted his head, used his hands to shield his eyes from the sun and nodded his head. Of course he loved Hermione. She was his friend wasn't she?

I had said, "Yes, I know that, but do you _love_ her?"

He must've heard something in my voice because for a moment there, his shoulder sagged, as though under a heavy weight and then softly, like he was sharing his most precious secret, he said he loved Hermione in a different way.

I wish I had seen his eyes when he said that. He was looking up at me the whole time and I couldn't see his eyes. When I insisted, when I asked him how different, he said he didn't know.

"Just different." Harry added and abruptly he stood up, hopped on his broom and was off, zooming into the sky. I tried to follow him with my eyes until he was nothing but a red dot, a red splotch across the blue skies.

Different, didn't seem bad. Different didn't mean anything to me. And I had pushed that conversation out of my head, until that summer after their sixth year and everything about me and Harry started revolving around the conversation.

Sometimes, I don't mind. I tell that to myself, but you see, sometimes, I do mind. I do mind that he loves her. I do mind that this love for Hermione could put him in such a state of pained confusion.

I told myself to never ask him again. The next time I ask, he might just realize the real answer to that question.

I don't think Harry knows it, but sometimes, I could see it in his eyes.

_How different, Harry? How different? _

He might not know it yet. But I do. I know.

And in the end he would have to choose and he would choose her and this time, there would be no one else but her.

----- -----

Author's note: Argh, I can't stop with the angst. LOL. Poor everyone of them! Damn you JK for bringing all these Gone With The Wind love-triangle thing upon Harry, Hermione and Ginny (and well, there's Ron too, but it could hardly be called a love square, could it? That'll be like implying a Ron/Ginny thing...!) Thanks ever so much for those who have read and reviewed this fic. I truly, truly appreciate it. From the very bottom of my heart! Please let me know what you guys thinks. HUGS to everyone


	6. Gratitude

**Scribbles**  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, there won't be any giant anvils, just good old yummy pumpkin pies.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #6: Harry was a friend. Her bestfriend. He wasn't someone she loved. At least not the way she loved Ron.   
Spoilers: Books 1-6ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much.

POV: Hermione

Book: Post Book6/7

**#6**

**Gratitude**

Her feelings for Harry weren't any different from before.

Harry was a friend. Her bestfriend. He wasn't someone she loved. At least not the way she loved Ron.

Loving Ron was frustrating and agonizing and happy and sad and every other emotion that she knew, that she could feel, which was why she held on to it. When everything started to slip away, when there was only calmness between them, she'd have to do something. Like assault him with birds or nag him to do his homework, or pick on his annoying habits. If she didn't do that, then everything else will fade away and then she'd have nothing.

Loving Harry was… well, out of the question.

He simply didn't see her. And she had grown to accept that. She might be the voice of reason inside his head but to him, that was all that she was. Otherwise, he would've noticed that she had patiently sat by his side, watching him write parchment upon parchment of homework. Or that she argued with him until she couldn't breathe anymore. Or that she would push and prod and advise Ginny on how to eventually get his attention even though every time she encouraged Ginny she felt as though her heart was being squeezed dry. Or that she would be happy only as long as he was happy, as long as he was safe, as long as he was alive.

Hermione wondered often enough if boys habitually missed seeing all the small things that would matter only in the end. After all, after almost seven years of friendship, to Harry she was simply Hermione, the girl who would constantly fix his glasses, brew illegal potions for him and fly on winged horses that she couldn't even see, storm into danger and risk death.

Of course, Harry appreciated everything that she had done, it wasn't in his nature to brush them all off aside and it warmed her heart every time he thanked her. But it also couldn't quell the pain in her chest because… well, because she wanted a little bit more than just his friendship and gratitude.

For the best of friends, yes, gratitude is a good thing, Hermione thought, trying to console herself, it strengthens the friendship, it binds one person to the other for the rest of their lives… but for someone so unquestionably, so deeply in love, gratitude is nothing compared to passion and desire and wanting and needing.

Over the years, the word had started to take another meaning for her. It grated on her nerve. It had become such a bitter word to swallow down and in the end it only constantly reminded Hermione that it was all the she would ever get from Harry. His gratitude.

End Note: I'll be leaving for Georgia this week and I'll be gone for about four weeks. I figured, I'd post 4 scribbles, one for each week that I'll be gone. Hehe. I hope that you all enjoy them and please do let me know what you guys think. I really, really appreciate. I'm planning on brining DH with me to read on the plane so hopefully, when I get back I'd have a few DH inspired scribbles… hopefully. Again, my many, many wonderful thanks for everyone who have read and reviewed.


	7. The Observer

**Scribble**s  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, there won't be any giant anvils, just good old yummy pumpkin pies.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #7: It was like watching a game of Quidditch, Neville thought, you just never know what to expect next. Spoilers: Books 1-6ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much. An attempt at a lighter-toned scribble/one-shot. Not much of a success, I think, but I hope you'd be able to forgive the sudden change in tone.

**#7**

**The Observer**

_Kill! Murder! Die! Die! Die!_

Neville looked up into Ron's face, wondering if he had indeed heard those words muttered darkly. But Ron's lips were not moving, in fact, his friend's whole face was slack, inscrutable, except for his blue eyes which were bright, almost as though ablaze.

Ron was making Neville quite nervous.

The small knife was raised and was plunged back into the fleshy colored piece of… well, Neville, quite frankly, didn't know what. He noisily gulped down and tried to think up of something to say or do to shake Ron out from his seemingly violent, murderous stupor. He tried clearing his throat but it was no use. He decided that perhaps, not to startle Ron or anything, he should just gently tug at his friend's sleeves and…

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, came Hermione's crisp, motherly voice: "Really, Ron, must you be so barbaric with your food?"

Ron paid her no attention as he continued to stab his frightfully helpless chopped up, minced and diced breakfast. Rolling her eyes and sighing impatiently, Hermione grabbed Ron's wrist, yanking his hand away. Neville watched in silence as the knife clattered noisily on the table. Ron blinked as though suddenly waking up from a dream, shook his head and glanced down at his plate, wincing at what remained of his breakfast.

Pancakes, was it? Neville wondered. Well, it didn't look like pancakes at all. Not to Neville anyway. He and Ron let out a small sighs of relief, although his was more out of thankfulness (trust Hermione to always come to the rescue) while Ron's was more out of frustration. He watched as Ron pushed his plate away and crossed his arms against his chest, muttering darkly, although this time Neville could clearly make out Ron's word: "Stupid fucking Slytherins. Wankers. Fucking cunts. The whole lot of them."

Neville squirmed. He wasn't used to that kind of language, even though each and every one of the Slytherins deserved to be called that but he really wished that Ron wouldn't say it so loudly. There were girls around them. Neville was sure that Ginny and Hermione heard Ron just as clearly as he had.

"Language, Ron." Hermione berated, sharply elbowing Ron and effectively stopping the free-flowing expletives. Ron yelped in pain and glared at Hermione.

Neville watched, cringing as Hermione's usually friendly face turned sour. He wondered if perhaps now would be the right time to switch seats with anyone willing to witness another row between Ron and Hermione, because he had seen it all before and it wasn't really pretty. He couldn't understand why some of the girls, like Lavander and Parvati, thought that Ron and Hermione bickering was, well, _cute_. It wasn't. It was ugly and vicious. And Neville truly wished they didn't fight at all. It can't be healthy for friends to say such mean things to each other. And so often too! He was just about to beg them not to fight when someone suddenly spoke up.

"Oh, Ronald, your pancakes looks mighty cheerful like that, swimming around in a pool of maple syrup."

The brewing tension between Ron and Hermione suddenly went pffft as Luna Lovegood pushed Ron's plate back to him. "You must eat breakfast, Ronald." Luna said, sitting down next to Neville, resting her elbow against the table and cradling her tilted face on her upturned palm. "It's not advisable to skip the second meal of the day." She informed them serenely.

"The first." Ron corrected her evenly.

"Well, no," Luna answered, unperturbed, "not if you've had a midnight snack." Her protuberant blue eyes stared expectantly and knowingly at Ron, who was now sporting a disturbed almost shocked expression of on his face. "So, go on then, eat up." Luna encouraged him. "What's the matter, Ronald?" she asked when Ron looked as though he was going to do anything but eat.

"He's got his red and gold knickers up in a bunch because Lavander can't watch our Quidditch match against the Slytherins." Ginny informed Luna, smiling widely, clearly finding all of these quite amusing.

"I do not…" Ron began, blushing furiously.

"Oh, that is too bad." Luna said, leaning forward, her long straw-blonde hair brushing against the table. "But why won't she come?" She asked calmly, her blue eyes brighter than usual.

"She has a soiree to attend." Ginny said, shrugging her shoulder.

"It's the annual Circle of Charming Witches Party." Hermione said in a syrupy voice, tossing Ron a haughty look. "Lavander's trying to get herself nominated as the President for next school year; she's up against Pansy and it's just so hard to decide who between them is more charming."

"If there's going to be a next school year." Harry added quite gravely and Neville suddenly felt cold. Had things turned so bad that even Harry didn't think there would be a next school year? But what will happen then? Will there really be a war? Will everyone have to fight? And die?

"Oh, there's always going to be a next school year, Harry." Luna said quite cheerfully. "That is, until you graduate from Hogwarts."

"What about the war and You-know-Who?" Neville asked nervously. No one said anything for a while and Neville could see that they were all furtively glancing at Harry, as though waiting for some answer from him. All except for Luna, who was looking off into the distance, looking quite bored, actually.

"I don't know Neville, I really don't what will happen."

Luna nodded her head, bringing her attention back to them. "Harry's right. No one can really know anything. It can't work that way." She said and then, as though dismissing the subject altogether, she stood up and nodded at them. "Anyway, I must go." She turned to go but paused, her blue eyes turning wide. "Oh! I almost forgot! Here you go Ronald," Luna said, handing Ron a bright orange gobstopper. "My dad sent me a boxful. He's stocking up on all sorts of candies trying to lure out talking pyinkados, although apparently, they don't like gobstoppers as much as they like pralines. Do eat your breakfast Ronald, it will make vomiting easier later on." Luna went on rather cheerfully and then nodding at the orange candy, added: "You should eat those, right after you get sick." And with that she turned and walked away.

There was a rather heavy silence around them and Neville looked nervously at Hermione. "What are pyinakdos? They're not scary are they?" He'd never heard of them and the name sounded positively ominous.

"Of course they're not scary Neville." Hermione replied, smiling gently at him. Neville liked Hermione a lot because she had always been kind to him and she never made him feel as though he was stupid and foolish. He really wished Ron and Hermione would stop arguing.

"Oh, really?" Ron muttered more to himself, keeping his voice low so that Neville was sure Hermione wouldn't hear him. "I guess you know what pyinakdos are. I bet you're a real expert on them."

"They're just…" Hermione scrunched up her nose and frowned. "Trees."

"Trees don't talk." Ginny said, giggling softy and Neville turned to look at her, the musical lilting of her voice and her laugh always made him smile.

"Exactly," Hermione agreed, calmly going back to eating her breakfast. She paused and nodded thoughtfully. "And I'm pretty sure that there's no such thing as talking pyinakdos. Don't believe everything that Luna says."

Neville thought it was a little out of character for Hermione to be somewhat judgmental of Luna although still, if Hermione was sure that there were no such thing as talking-what-you-call-'ems, Luna shouldn't really go around scaring people off with talks like that.

"Well, that's real mean Hermione." Ron commented, finally pocketing the gobstopper.

"Excuse me, what?" Hermione asked sharply, her voice rising, earning her a few curios glances from the rest of their table.

"Just because Loony isn't oh-so-smart as you doesn't mean that you could treat her like that." Ron continued as though he hadn't heard Hermione speak up.

Oh, no. Neville thought groaning. Here they go again. He felt himself trying to wiggle his bottom further from the table, stopping only when he realized that he might be squishing Ginny, who was sitting beside him. "Sorry," he quickly muttered but Ginny didn't seem to have noticed. She looked quite riveted with the verbal tussle that was quickly escalating to something almost akin to a wrestling match.

"Me? Treat her like _what_? Listen to yourself, Ron, you call her Loony all the time!" Normally, Hermione's voice would calm Neville down, she always seemed to know exactly what was going on what should be done, but when it gets shrilly like this, well, it hurt his eardrums, that was for sure. He glanced at Harry hoping that he'd stop this argument before it got out of hand, but Harry was watching Ron and Hermione with a grim expression on his face.

"It's different." Ron protested angrily, matching the volume of Hermione's voice.

"Oh, yeah, how is it different?" Hermione challenged him, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms against her chest.

Ron let out a huge puff of air, shaking his head. "It just is, alright! I wouldn't expect you to understand. And besides Loony doesn't mind being called that."

"Actually, I think she does sort of mind." Harry said, turning to look at Ron, wincing a little when Ron sent him an evil look.

"It's her nickname!" Ron said through gritted teeth.

Oh, boy, Neville thought. This was starting to look really bad. He kind of thought that calling Luna Loony wasn't a nice thing, but he didn't want to join on this particular disagreement, which was quickly becoming the center of attention in the Great Hall. He squirmed lower in his seat, wishing briefly that he had taken Dean's offer to have breakfast with them. He wished he didn't have any trouble saying no to Ginny Weasley, but whenever she asked him for something, her huge blue eyes looking so wonderfully blue, well who has he to say no? Next time, though, he knew well enough to never ever have breakfast with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny right before a Quidditch game. There was just too much tension involved for it to ever actually be peaceful.

"It isn't her nickname Ron!" Ginny was saying, gracefully waving a fork in the air before practically jabbing it into Ron's direction. "You really shouldn't call her that. She's my friend too, you know." She added in a reproachful voice.

Ron stared at them and Neville nervously gulped down. "So everyone's ganging up on me now?"

"Oh, no-" Neville began in protest. The last thing he needed was to be on the receiving end of Ron's anger.

"We're not ganging up on you." Harry told Ron, his green eyes flashing. Neville could see that Harry was gripping his glass a little too tightly; in fact his knuckles were slowly turning white.

"This can't be good." Neville muttered to himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground, readying himself, just in case there was a need to suddenly bolt off the chair and run for his life.

"Oh, yes you are." Ron answered, sounding almost petulant.

And to be fair, it looked to Neville as though they _were_ ganging up on Ron.

"Well, maybe if you weren't such an arse…" Hermione started, which was obviously the wrong thing to say as Ron suddenly turned to face Hermione, his face turning a shade a dozen times darker than his hair.

"And I suppose you're just nice and perfect all the time?" His voice was low and angry.

"I never said that." Hermione began, looking quite stricken, as though Ron had actually reached out to physically hurt her. From the corner of Neville's eyes, he could see Harry leaning forward, his green eyes dark and intense.

"Ron," Harry said in a warning voice but was quickly cut off by Ron who still kept his eyes locked straight into Hermione's face.

"You never have to say anything Hermione," there was a rather chilling quality in the tone of Ron's voice, almost like he actually meant everything that he had just said, as though he actually meant this whole argument and Neville though that this was the first time he'd seen the Trio so out of touch with each other, so angry with each other and all it had taken were a few exchange of not-so-nice-words.

"-you practically throw it on everyone's face: 'I'm-Hermione-Granger-and-I'm-just-bloody-perfect!'" Ron practically spat the last bit out and Hermione's brown eyes suddenly went wide. Neville wasn't sure if she looked more angry or hurt, but he was certain he saw her eyes watering with tears. They watched silently as Hermione silently gritted her teeth and then hurriedly stood up, grabbing her book bag, walking out the hallway and leaving a wake of gossip behind her.

"Well done, Ron." Harry said, standing up, grabbing his books as well.

"What?! She started it!" Ron said, still sounding a little defensive, although, the anger in him seemed to have been almost instantly deflated. Ron slumped lower to his chair watching with growing disdain as Harry gathered his belonging.

"Where are you going Harry?" Ginny asked, even though the answer was pretty much clear.

Neville turned his head away when Harry bent down to kiss Ginny on the cheeks, whispering his apologies before hurrying out to follow Hermione.

"If you keep following her around, she's never going to realize how annoying she could be!" Ron shouted after him, turning to glare at the mass of students that were keenly watching him. "What are you looking at?" he snarled at one freshman before bowing his head low and continuing with his earlier pancake massacre.

Neville heard Ginny heave a heavy sigh. "Well, thanks for ruining my breakfast, Ron. I'll be sure to tell mum and dad about your awful behavior."

It was like watching a game of Quidditch, Neville thought, you just never know what to expect next.

Ron let out a huge tired sigh. "I'm going to ask Loony about what she meant by 'making it easier to vomit later on'!" He finally said, throwing down his fork in disgust, stalking off and leaving Neville alone with Ginny.

After a whole second of silence, Neville finally worked up the courage to look at Ginny, nervously clearing his throat before asking, "Would you, er, would you like me to leave?"

"Don't be silly, Neville." Ginny said, gently patting his hand. "We'll have a nice, normal, quiet little breakfast. Just like the old times." She smiled sweetly at him and Neville couldn't help but smile back.

"Sure Gin." He mumbled softly, somewhat pleased that Ginny remembered all those time when they – just the two of them – had breakfast together. He

hoped that he wasn't blushing so much and that if he were, Ginny wouldn't really notice.

"Honestly, sometimes those three!" Ginny said with a roll of her eyes, throwing her hand in the air. "It's was fun watching Ron and Hermione take jabs at each other, at least at first is was. But that was six years ago, you'd think by now, they'd know when to just let it go and shut up."

Well, Neville thought, didn't seem like she noticed although what she said was true. "Maybe you should try to talk to them." He suggested and it was always a wonder for him how he could so easily talk to Ginny.

"Oh, believe me, Nev, I've tried all that. It's just too emotionally draining trying to referee them. And it's bad enough that Ron and Hermione just always have to insult each other but must Harry always choose Hermione's side?" She asked in a rather pained voice, sniffling gently.

"I'm sure he's just trying to look out after Hermione." Neville offered, not mentioning that most of the time, at least when they were younger, Harry had always sided with Ron. He wondered what might have changed that, but then again, it was quite obvious, this growing rift between the Ron and Harry and Hermione. He wished things would and could go back to the way they were before… well, before everything seemed to turn into this complicated early morning breakfast verbal massacre. He glanced up at Ginny, feeling his heart sink somewhere into his stomach. He reached out to squeeze Ginny's hand, wanting to erase the sad look on her face.

Her skin is so soft. Had always been so soft. He unconsciously ran his thumb against her wrist, stopping almost instantly when he realized what he was doing. Choking, he withdrew his hand, hoping that Ginny hadn't noticed.

"I suppose so." Ginny was saying, looking away and biting her lips.

Neville felt a familiar tug of disappointment. Maybe it was all for the better. He glanced at Luna and Ron who seemed to be in some sort of deep conversation before Ron started laughing, sounding almost genuinely happy. He heard Ginny snort and he realized that she had been watching the two as well.

"Who would've thought, huh?" She asked him, blue eyes twinkling merrily as she winked at him.

Neville wordlessly nodded, giving Ginny his best smile.

If only they could stay just like this, then everything would be really, simply perfect.

pyinakdos – [pyíngkə d, pee íngkəd are, well, trees. They're Asian trees. I just used it cause it sounds funny – or at least something that I thought Luna would say. Hehehehe. And that is my rather failed attempt at making a not-so-angsty fic.


	8. Beginnings and Reasons

**Scribbles**  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, there won't be any giant anvils, just good old yummy pumpkin pies.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #8: It changed everything. That Halloween night, it changed everything. From then on, she had friends. She had Ron and Harry and everything wasn't perfect, but it was wonderful – she had never known what it was like to have friends before.   
Spoilers: Books 1-6ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much.

**#8**

**Beginnings and Reasons**

Harry had already broken her heart and yet amidst those shattered fragile fragments, her heart still belonged to him. It hurt a lot, but what was she to do? She could never, ever make herself stand in front of Harry and tell him that she had unknowingly given her heart to him and since he won't have it, could he kindly give it back to her.

But to be honest, she'd rather have her heart with him. There was just no other else for her. No one.

Ron was sweet and wonderful and caring and as familiar to her as Harry was. Victor was very gallant and wise and sophisticated and made her feel wanted and needed and even desired but however she tried to focus on all their best qualities, they couldn't quite make her feel the way Harry could make her feel with just the smallest smile, the briefest touch. A mere glance could send her heart jumping from her chest to her throat and back again.

A famous Muggle mathematician and philosopher had once said that the heart has reasons that reason cannot know.

She respected and admire all the profound thinkers of both the Muggle and Magical world but, oh, what utter bollocks! How could a person not know their own hearts?

She knew. Deep down, Hermione knew why she loved Harry.

Harry was the only boy who chose to look for her and find her that Halloween night so many years ago, cowering by the bathroom stall, scared and feeling so incredibly alone. She had never been so terrified in her entire life, not even when she first went through the wall at King's Cross. It was such a terrible fear that gripped her that night and the only thoughts running through her head wasn't about getting out of there, or defending herself. All she could think of was how awful it that she was going to die all alone inside the girls bathroom – and oh! no one would save her, no one, because she had been such an annoying know it all and no one wants to be friends with her.

And then suddenly, Harry had come bursting into the room. Harry who wasn't even her friend yet – and yet he came for her! He hadn't run off with the rest of the students for safety. No, he went and looked for her.

Oh, Ron came too, Hermione would never forget that and she would forever love Ron for that as well, but it had been Harry who had reached for her, tried to pull her up, urged her to run and then when she couldn't, too terrified to move, he had bravely jumped unto the troll's back and for a horrible second, as Hermione watched Harry hanging from the Troll's neck, she remembered thinking that the only friend she might ever had was going to die and it was all her fault!

When it was all over, when the Troll laid unconscious on the floor and Professor Snape and McGonagall were looking at Harry and Ron with accusing eyes, the least she could do was get them out of trouble, not just because they just saved her, but it was her fault in the firs place and whatever it was that made her lie and take the blame for the whole Halloween Feast mess, she was glad that she had stood up and told McGonagall that it was all her fault. She had come looking for trouble and trouble had found her.

It changed everything. That Halloween night, it changed everything. From then on, she had friends. She had Ron and Harry and everything wasn't perfect, but it was wonderful – she had never known what it was like to have friends before. Somehow, even when things got scary, it was alright to be scared, she had Ron and Harry with her and even when they're both just as scared as she was, they had each other.

Perhaps then it wasn't love as much as it was having something to bond over (heavens, but did it really have to be 12 feet Troll! Hermione would often think) but from that point on, from whatever she had felt for Harry that Halloween night, it had grown into something more, something much sweeter and ultimately more painful now that Harry couldn't and would never look at her as anything more than his friend – never anything different from how he saw her that night so many years ago.

Love has a terrible almost wicked way of belittling friendships. It could tear friends apart, Hermione knew that and she had wished so many times that it wasn't so… but… if she really looked deeply into her heart she would know that right now, right this very minute, she would rather have Harry's lips on her, his fingers gently touching her cheeks, his arms around her, his voice saying her name. She'd rather have all these than her friendship with Harry.

She treasured her relationship with Harry of course, it was one of most precious things in her life and she never regretted and would never regret anything she did with Harry. She would do them all over again if he asked her and really, he didn't even need to ask. But was it so bad to want just a little bit more?

She could watch and look at him, from the corner of her eyes, for just a second or two and try to be happy with his friendship, after all, Hermione thought, the corner of her lips curling up in a small sad smile, friendship is still love. And wasn't love also about patience and kindness as well?

Someday, Hermione thought, maybe he'd wake up from that constant daze he was in and then he'd realize…

Someday. Hopefully.

----- -----

Author's note: Famous muggle mathematician, philosopher (and French Physicist) is Blaise Pascal. I just love that quote to death. Hehehehe.

I hope that you liked this update. Much thanks for everyone who have read and reviewed. I really do appreciate it!


	9. Confessions

**Scribbles**  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, there won't be any giant anvils, just good old yummy pumpkin pies.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #8: It never did sort of surprise him. Really, it didn't. Perhaps, he had known it even before either Harry or Hermione had. People seemed to have mistaken him for being quite daft.

Spoilers: Books 1-6ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much.

**#9 **

**Confessions **

It never did sort of surprise him. Really, it didn't. Perhaps, he had known it even before either Harry or Hermione had. People seemed to have mistaken him for being quite daft.

Bastards!

Well, alright, fine, he might have the emotional range of teaspoon (as Hermione had so succinctly put it) but he wasn't delusional. He saw what was there, even the more subtle hints and the less pronounced telltale signs. He had understood it for what it was; understanding however wasn't exactly the same as accepting it.

It wasn't supposed to be. Harry should have Ginny and he should have Hermione and they were all going to be so bloody, perfectly happy. For one thing, it was definitely less complicated and for another, well, it just wasn't supposed to be! Why couldn't Hermione stick with the plan? For someone who was such a stickler to following the rules she sure made a big mess out of her and his life as well, Ron though glaring at her as she stared at her shoes, sniffling softly.

And for her to chose this day, of all days!

Outside he could hear the happy voices and laughter and singing of all their families and friends as they celebrated Bill and Fleur's wedding. He should've been there and not here, getting his heart broken and trampled upon. This just might be the last really happy day of his life before they start with the horcrux hunting.

"What was that all about, then?" He asked angrily, throwing his arms wildly in the air.

"What?" Hermione replied in a small voice, sounding lost and confused as she wiped her tear-stained cheeks.

"That… that… you laying your head on my shoulders… crying and… and… that stupid flock of birds that attacked me! What was that all about, then?"

"Oh, Ron…" Hermione sobbed and Ron winced. He wished she wouldn't cry like that. He didn't want her crying so miserably in front of him and he didn't even know if he was supposed to comfort her and hold her even when he was angry as fuck.

"I… wasn't… I didn't mean to." She said, looking at him imploringly. "I was s-so confused and D-dumbledore d-d-ying, I just wanted someone to comfort me and…"

"Well, I comforted you, didn't I?" He asked angrily, inwardly cringing at how mental he sounded right about now. The more rational part of his mind commented rather idly that he wasn't making such a strong point and why bother? He had known this was going to happen all these time. He had only prolonged the inevitable. And now the inevitable had come, Ron thought, shaking his head, letting out a huge sigh of frustration.

_Hello, Mr. Inevitable, you annoying git, come so soon, I see._

"You did." Hermione started, reaching out to take his hands. Her hands were so small. Why hadn't he noticed it before? So small and so fragile looking and… well, Ron frowned distracted for a moment, not as soft as Lavander's. Must be from all that writing, Ron thought, as Hermione gently squeezed his fingers.

Writing to Viktor Krum, that is, he thought grimacing.

"…and I couldn't thank you enough…" Hermione was saying as he looked up into her eyes.

For a moment, he felt kind of sorry for her and then he felt sorry for himself because obviously, he was being dumped. On the wedding of his own brother. Hermione had the worst timing in the world.

"I don't need your thanks!" He nearly bellowed, squirming almost instantly and guiltily when Hermione whimpered. Alright, he had known this was coming; he had to be at least calm about this. Detached even. But why does it hurt so bad?

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Ron… it's just… I didn't mean it to be like this, please you have to believe me."

And surprisingly enough, Ron did. "It's not enough, is it?" He asked sadly, whispers of acceptance finally coming to him. Hermione weakly nodded her head, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

He was, Ron discovered that day, quite the masochist because he just had to ask her what or why or who. She wouldn't tell at first but he had been relentless and amidst her tears, she told him everything.

_Everything. _

Sometimes Ron wondered if it had been better if he hadn't found out. At least then, it wouldn't hurt so much and then he thought of how miserable he'd be if he had continued to pine away for her while her heart already belonged to someone else. The knowledge of it, well, it definitely made things awkward between them. Sometimes Ron resented Hermione for it, but most of the time, he was just resigned to the fact that there was nothing to be done about it. He wanted her but she didn't want him – or at least not anymore.

Once she had, Hermione told him tearfully but her heart had grown tired of waiting for him to stop treating her as though… well, as though he didn't care.

But he did care, he just didn't know how to show her and Hermione sadly shrugged and told him that it just wasn't meant to be. He had always wanted Hermione. He remembered all those years of wanting her. Not when they were in first and second years, mind you. She was a bit annoying back then.

He noticed her, really noticed her that stupid Yule Ball Night. If it hadn't been for that blueish-purplish gown of her, he wouldn't have noticed that she was a girl after all. Gradually, he noticed other things about her. She was smart and when she didn't throw it in his face (as she often tends to do), he marveled at just how much information she could store inside her head.

Hermione was also pretty – well, Ron scrunched up his nose, not really _pretty _pretty, but she wasn't hard to look at, besides, she was also brave and less annoying than Lavender (who was pretty_ and _annoying all at the same time when she wanted to be).

Well, alright, Hermione wasn't perfect, Ron had to admit that. She could be arrogant sometimes and to be honest, she really needs to loosen up a bit. She hardly makes any jokes and when she actually does, he could never really get what was funny about it in the first place and he wouldn't dare ask, because if he did, then she'd put on airs trying to explain it to him which didn't make him feel any better. Maybe, in his own way, he had even loved her and he liked to think that she had loved him as well, although not in the same she loved Harry.

_Harry. _

It just had to be Harry. Ron remembered groaning out loud when Hermione finally confessed that it was Harry she had fallen in love with. Of all the other boys… well, ok, maybe Harry was better in a way, because Ron knew that Harry won't take advantage of Hermione. If it had been Collin or Seamus or Dean or anyone else, he would've shaken Hermione senseless. But then again, when she had said Harry's name, he had to fight off the urge to wring Hermione's neck.

Why Harry? Why does it have to be bloody Harry?

She said she didn't know. She couldn't help it and besides, she would never, ever tell Harry. And she even promised him that. Although, honestly, Ron felt that he had no use of that promise. None whatsoever. It made Hermione miserable and it made him miserable and frankly, he was tired of all this misery. Sometimes he wondered if Hermione felt like dawdling in her misery was some sort of punishment, although for the life of him he couldn't think of a reason why she was trying to punish herself in the first place. If he had learned to accept that she loved Harry, why couldn't she?

Hermione had all the excuses in the world. There was Ginny, the war, there was Voldemort and Harry too… Harry might not love her and she wasn't willing to risk her friendship with him. Ron had tried to make Hermione realize that he and Kurm and Cho and Ginny and even Voldemort were only postponing the inevitable. Why was she joining the bloody bandwagon? Really, it was already a bit over-crowded. And as for Harry, she could be wrong. Harry just might actually see her more than just a friend.

"Don't be daft Hermione. He needs to know." He'd told Hermione, late one night when he was sure that Harry was sleeping and not trying to listen on in their conversation. Harry had been, of late, suspicious (acting as though he was jealous even) with his and Hermione's new found closeness. Ron would've loved to tell Harry that once you've broken each others heart, there was just no where else to go but become the bestest of best friends. Sarcastically, of course.

"No, he doesn't." Hermione said, "You don't understand…" She looked like she was about to cry so Ron never brought up the subject again, but oh, he understands it well enough. He understands the way Hermione feels for Harry. Hermione loves Harry like, well, like he was _everything_. He didn't know any big, grandiloquent words like Hermione and he suppose there was a much more appropriate word to use, but he was stumped. Besides, how could any word top _everything_?

Hermione loves Harry as though there was no tomorrow and when tomorrow comes she'd love him even more without even her realizing it. Hermione didn't have to say that of course, he could see it with the way her eyes followed Harry's every move, the way she listened to Harry's every word, even when sometimes it was as boring as watching paint dry off the bottom of a cauldron.

Hermione didn't have the same glow in Ginny's eyes because her sister saw Harry in a different light, Ron understood that too. Hermione knew everything about Harry – even his annoying habits and how hardheaded and stubborn and infuriating he could be, but still, she loves him, the lucky git.

One day, they were out lounging by the lake near the Burrow, a rare day of relaxation after driving themselves to the point of death trying to look for those damn Horcruxes. They found one, two weeks ago, something or the other that was supposed to belong to Rowena Ravenclaw. He shuddered just thinking about it.

It had nearly killed Hermione, which in turn nearly drove Harry insane and by insane he meant stark raving "I'm-going-off-to-a-Death-Eater-killing-spree-ladidida-send-me-an-owl-as-soon-as-Hermione-wakes-up" mad.

He could never forget the way Harry had looked that day. It made him thoroughly glad and thankful he wasn't fighting against Harry's side. Harry had been so scary that day, Ron had even felt a twinge of nervous sympathy for Malfoy. Actually, for all death eaters concerned and involved. Harry was pretty good not only with his wand but with his fists as well and Ron was certain that there would be less wand-twirling and more fist-pounding as soon as Harry finds out where Draco was hiding.

Oh, he couldn't wait.

Anyway, after Hermione had recovered they decided - or at least he and Hermione did, Harry was against it and only conceded after Hermione turned to him and softly begged: "please, Harry, please," - to spend their day outside the burrow, without thoughts of Horcruxes or of thinking up and listing the many ways to eviscerate Voldemort, The Abominable Git.

And mind you, they were already at #1,126.

Looking for Horcruxes wasn't all that exciting, really.

Ron had been watching Hermione brush Ginny's long, red locks of hair, occasionally whispering and glancing at their direction, giggling and whatever it was that girls do when they're having their "moments" as Ginny had haughtily called it once. Luna referred it as a ancient ritual of some sort, which he thought was utter bollocks, but then again, almost everything that the girls, Hermione, Luna and Ginny in particular, do, well, to Ron, it all seemed confusing and sometimes, even downright scary, especially with the PMS-ing thing. Whatever that was.

"It's nice to see them getting along." Ron said, nodding towards the pair.

Harry idly glanced at Ginny and Hermione and shrugged, "I don't see why they shouldn't get along fine."

Ron blinked. Well, of course, Harry wouldn't see it. He didn't know how difficult it had been for Hermione to practically hand him over to Ginny. "You broke up with Gin, how come you're still friends?" He asked after a long pause.

"You broke up with Hermione and you've been inseparable ever since." Harry replied evenly.

Was that a trace of bitterness in Harry's voice? "We weren't really together, mate. We had never been… I mean, never. Really, how many times should I say this before everyone stops buggering me about me and Hermione?"

"Really?" Harry asked, looking at him in an odd, scrutinizing sort of way. Ron forced himself to meet Harry's gaze and not blink, nodding his head in all seriousness, with as much sincerity as he could master. He thought he heard Harry mutter "bloody sodding hell" but he wasn't quite sure.

"What was that all about, then?" There was a challenging tone in Harry's voice that didn't quite bode well with Ron.

"What?" Ron asked, blinking rapidly. "What was what all about then?" He asked rather nervously, trying to think up of anything that he might have done that would cause Harry to go all protective "Make Hermione cry again and I'll make Crookshanks swallow you alive and then spit you out" mode.

"That… that… laying her head on your shoulders… crying and… and… that stupid flock of birds that attacked you! What was that all about, then?"

Bloody hell, he sounded just like me, Ron thought feeling rightfully freaked out. He must be spending way too much time with Harry… but… wait. He looked at Harry closely.

Harry had noticed all that too… he had… did he… was he… Ron paused. Blinked. Suffered a minor heart attack. _Oh bloody fucking sodding hell._

Ron was just about to jump up and triumphantly punch the air. _You're wrong Hermione! Oh, how wrong you are about Harry! _But he managed to hold it all in. Pouting, Ron sent a glare towards Hermione's direction. The first time he was right about something and he couldn't hold it up against Hermione pert nose. Well, not yet anyways.

"Do you suppose Hermione would look better if she just comb her hair as often as Ginny?" Ron asked, glancing briefly at Hermione and Ginny before staring at Harry with what he hoped was a normal-enough looking stare.

"No." Harry said quietly, his gaze locked on Hermione's face. "She's perfect already." And Harry had that same expression on Hermione's face whenever she was watching at him from a distance. It was like… well, it was all mushy and ridiculously sappy and Ron found himself making a face.

Euw.

Harry quickly averted his eyes and Ron could already guess that Hermione had felt Harry's gaze and had turned to look their way. Ron smiled slowly. His first ever real smile ever since that day Hermione had confessed to him all of her heart's pain and desires.

There just might be an end to this misery after all, Ron thought, now if only I could make Ginny agree to play matchmaker for those two…


	10. Meant To Be

**Scribbles**  
By: Grace (purplemud)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, there won't be any giant anvils, just good old yummy pumpkin pies.  
Parings: H/G, H/Hr  
Summary: Scribble #10: _I'm letting it go now_, you say to yourself, _I'm letting you go now, Harry, and I'll be happy about. _Spoilers: Books 1-6ish. Not much, really. It's more of an AU anyway.  
Note: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. Would love feedback. Much.

**#10**

Meant To Be

Right underneath your nose. Exactly when you think you have it all.

You press the binoculars hard against your cheekbones. It will leave a mark. A semi circle right underneath your eyes, but you don't care. You watch Cho's surprised look, her small mouth forming a small "O" of surprise, her small eyes, turning wide. She's still hovering in the air, clutching at her broom; time is still frozen for her, but not for the rest of the players, the rest of the crowd.

You watch silently, heart pounding in your chest as Ginny snatched the Golden Snitch from practically underneath Cho's nose and the reaction of the crowd is instantaneous. Everyone around you goes wild, cheering so very loudly, the force of it is almost like an explosion and you feel as though it is enough to knock you down. You almost clasp your hands on your ears, but you can't, you're busy wiping away your tears.

But why are you crying?

Because you know that this is it.

_This is it, Hermione, suck in a deep lungful of air and breathe. Remember to always breathe. And smile. Smiling is important. _

It's a good thing that Harry isn't here. You know what will happen if he was here.

You will turn toward him and smile your small, practiced, perfected smile. The Harry smile. Your Harry smile. But he won't see you. He won't be looking at you. His face will be tilted upwards and you would see that gleam in his eyes. That light, that twinkle. You know that look. You know what it means. He used to look at Cho that way but you know that this time it isn't Cho who has his attention.

He's smitten. Harry is so very smitten.

You will be tempted to tug a little at his sleeves but what's the point? Besides, what will you tell him when he looks down at you (he's grown taller, you've noticed that too) and raises his eyebrows in question?

_Yes, Hermione? Is there anything you want to say?_

And you might suddenly blurt out: "_I love you!"_

Yes, it's a good thing that Harry isn't here right now.

You turn your attention back to the blue sky, dotted with reds and yellows and blues. You wonder for a moment if your dislike for flying was a sign, a sure bloody sign, why you and Harry and maybe even Ron and Viktor would never happen. You don't know what it feels like to be up there: so high up in the sky, the roaring cheers and hoarse cries floating up, touching you, holding you… no, you don't know. You're just one of the many eyes, one the many voices.

Does Harry recognize your voice when you shout his name? Does he know when you're looking up at him? The answer is probably no.

You keep your eyes on the sky, even when it's nothing but clouds and that endless, endless blue.

If Harry is here, you will have to watch Harry's expression of wonder, his green eyes following Ginny's descent from the air, his face glowing with pride – and something else - as Ginny pumped her fist in the air in victory, the wings of the snitch beating furiously against her wrist.

You'll never know the feel of small wings tickling inside your palm, only the smoothness of parchment against your fingers and suddenly, without warning, you remember the day you kissed Harry at the end of your fifth year. You remember the letter you wrote to Harry that very same day:

_Yours forever, Hermione _

You never gave Harry that letter.

The letter is safely tucked in between page something and something of your dog eared copy of Peter Pan – you can't remember the exact page, but it's on the part where Wendy is crying because the pirates had captured Tiger Lily – that's where the letter is. That's where it will remain, your feelings frozen in time, never to be read, never to be acknowledged.

Are you sorry about that? Yes. No. Maybe. A little.

You shake your head, clear your thoughts. That is the past. There is no point in remembering. Remembering does not change anything. You will the memory of that letter away. Brush it aside. Hide it.

You walk slowly back to the common room and listen vaguely to everyone around you as they marvel about Ginny, the whole team and really, wasn't Ginny great? Amazing? Fantastic? Just brilliant!

Ginny's a good Seeker, not like Harry of course, but she has skills, she was graceful, athletic. Gifted. Beautiful. Perfect. With the sun just behind her, she looks like she's glowing. There's a red, wonderfully red, halo around her.

You think of Mrs. Potter, Mrs. Lily Evans Potter, and you remember that her hair is deep, rich red too.

You experience that brief flash of frustration for your bushy, brown hair but it's gone even before you could dwell on it. Later, tonight, before you sleep, you will let Lavander brush your hair. One hundred strokes. You'll count it, just to be sure. But you know that it wouldn't matter. Not now, anyway.

Neville is walking right next to you and he's saying wonderful things about Ginny and you want to say: "Yes, she's really great" not because you feel it's the right thing to say, but because you do honestly believe that Ginny is great. You had spent the previous summer braiding her hair and telling her patiently that there's no need to rush about love, it will come to you, just wait.

You silly girl. The words were meant for Ginny, but your heart had believed in it and now what?

Neville glances at you, he's worried, you could tell, but you say nothing. The words are perfectly formed inside your head but you can't say them out loud and you feel rotten about it, as though you're betraying Ginny.

You're a little angry at yourself, because you're thinking, is this how Ron would feel every time he's pushed out of the limelight to make way for the twins, or for one of his older brothers or for Ginny or for Harry or for all of them combined, and suddenly, you've become just a shadow?

It's such a sad, disorienting thought.

You don't know how you ended up in the Common Room. You can't remember climbing the stairs, can't remember anything at all, except that suddenly: Ginny and Harry.

It's silly. It truly is. The way you immediately thought of their names together. Meant to happen. A sign. That's what a sign is. Not something that you see on dried tea leaves or smog-filled crystal balls.

And there it is, right in front of your face: the crowd cheering loudly, Harry and Ginny kissing, and you tying not to look at anywhere or at anyone.

You envy the girls who know what they want and exactly how they get it. You stand there and think: it's going to change now. It's never going to be like before. The Trio is no longer The Trio. Has Harry or Ron realized it yet? Or do they think that somehow, it will always stay the same? But that's not right. They were changing; they had been changing ever since that Halloween night and she might as well be the first one to admit it.

_I'm letting it go now_, you say to yourself, _I'm letting you go now, Harry, and I'll be happy about. _

You love Harry and Ron and Ginny and because they're going to be happy, then you should be happy for them too. You can learn to be happy about it.

And that is why, when you found Harry staring right into your eyes, as though asking for a sign, you couldn't… you didn't have the heart not to give this kind of happiness to him, he deserved it more than anyone else. What a horrible friend you'd be if you let him know… if you let it show on your face…

You beam up at him, put everything you have into that smile, every little dream, every little hope, every little wish that you have and you silently tell him that it's ok, it's what meant to be.

And somewhere at the back of your head you could clearly hear your own voice saying: _there's no need to rush about love, it will come to you, just wait_.

But the words are no longer meant for Ginny.

--- ---

Author's note: Argh. That was down right angsty! Oh, well. I hope you guys are enjoying this angst-fest. Hehehe.


	11. Honey, Rosemary and Kisses

**Scribbles**  
By: Grace (purplemud)

**Disclaimers**: Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned HP, I'd probably be writing H/G… lol. Kiddin'. Sort of.  
**Parings**: Hermione and Ginny friendship, H/Hr, some slight D/G and a brief mention of Krum and Hermione  
**Summary**: (Scribble #11) Luna had already warned me that those were the kind of boys who wouldn't know how to kiss a girl properly and I plan on being kissed properly the first time  
**Note**: Drabbles, one-shots, some with plots, some completely random. They don't follow any timeline, just random stories that pop out of my head.

**#11**

_Honey, Rosemary and Kisses_

On the summer of their sixth year, Hermione stayed at The Burrow. She had to. London was miserable, France held its fancy – but only for a week or so and then she was back to being restless and worried. Missing her friends. And Harry.

She settled quite nicely at The Burrow and they welcomed her like she was part of the family, a visiting relative, a close cousin, maybe even a daughter and sister except only she had mahogany brown hair instead of copper red.

She stayed at Ginny's room, her trunk pushed against the wall, directly underneath the only window. It settled perfectly there, like a lost missing piece in Ginny's room and Hermione decided that she'd leave it there: a little piece of her that will forever stay in the Burrow.

When Hermione first arrived there, she and Ginny completely ignored Ron and the rest of the Weasely boys. They'd sit on her wooden trunk, legs pulled up to their chin, their cups of tea laced with honey and rosemary already cold and forgotten by the floor. They spoke softly about being sixteen as though it was a secret that only girls could understand. Ginny couldn't wait and Hermione was already eager to skip being sixteen altogether.

"It can't be that bad." Ginny said, pushing away a stray lock of shocking red hair, plastered across her forehead.

"No. Not really." Hermione said slowly, lazily. She rested her chin against her knees, her hands tugging at the ends of the lavender curtain that briefly kissed her toes.

The summer wasn't really over and sometimes, early in the afternoon, just when they had just finished their lunch, the air would suddenly turn humid and there would be no breeze at all to stir up the clouds or even the flimsy curtain in Ginny's room. Whenever the air turned warm, their conversation would somehow turn towards boys and love, first dates and on this day, first kisses.

"I'll get mine when I turn sixteen." Ginny said dreamily. "It would be the perfect age. Sixteen." She savored the word, as though it was all sugar and spice.

Hermione got hers a little too early. Krum had shyly asked her and for someone like him, older and more experience, to suddenly turn into a blushing, stumbling school boy in front of her, it had been thrilling. It was something she hadn't expected, hadn't thought she'd be able to able feel.

The anticipation of the kiss, the idea of, it tugged at her young, inexperienced heart but when it was all over, it disappointed her when she realized that it wasn't so breathtaking after all. Not the way she had felt riding on Buckbeak's back, her arm precariously holding on to Harry. The kiss was just… it was just his lips against hers; just skin brushing against skin, tentative. Almost cold. She had quickly pulled away because the scent of sea – salt and sand – had suddenly filled her nostrils making her feel so utterly lost.

"A kiss isn't supposed to make you feel that way, is it?" Ginny asked in a hushed voice.

"I don't know. Haven't you kissed Michael?"

"Goodness no! He's a smooth talker and knows exactly what to say and when to say it but Luna had already warned me that those were the kind of boys who wouldn't know how to kiss a girl properly and I plan on being kissed properly the first time." She grinned at her slyly, the smile of a woman-child. "All the time."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, choosing to ignore Ginny's last comment. She thought of Ron for a moment and how he's probably going to really flip out if he ever finds out the things that Ginny would say. "Where on earth did Luna get that idea?" She asked instead, a little curious herself. Luna didn't seem to be type who'd be an expert on boys and kissing and she didn't mean that in a bad way. It's just that… well, it's _Luna_.

"In a book." Ginny explained her voice utterly serious. "Boys and Kisses: A Statistical Study on How A Boy's Personality Is Directly Proportional to Their Kiss. Or something equally as convoluted as that."

"I haven't heard such a book!"

"Of course you haven't." Ginny said with a rather curt nod and Hermione isn't sure if she's affronted by that or not. "An older Ravenclaw girl wrote it." Ginny continued without missing a beat, "It's their house rule, you know. Once you graduate, you must write at least one book. They keep it in their library. Luna's starting to write hers now. Although she can't decide yet whether she'd like to write about undiscovered magical creatures that trollop about their place or those plants that snap up and eat those undiscovered magical creatures."

"I wonder what category Viktor would fall." Hermione murmured quietly, having lost her interest about those Ravenclaw girls writing their own books. "Probably The Dry Forgettable Kind."

"How about Malfoy?" Ginny asked in a voice so low, Hermione was surprised she had actually heard it. "How'd you think he'd fare up in the kissing department?"

"Malfoy?! Why would you think Malfoy can actually kiss?"

"I bet he'd be under the Dangerous category, the kind that would make your head spin and your heart pound."

Hermione shook her head, "Don't ever let Ron hear you mention Malfoy's name again, especially on that context."

"How bout Harry?"

"His will be the kind of kiss that would make girls cry." Hermione said thinking about Cho.

"I think I'd like the Dangerous kind better. Who would want to cry on their first kiss?"

_I think maybe I would_. Hermione thought to herself.

-End-

Author's note: And I'm somewhat back. LOL. It's a terrible update, but I hope you forgive me for it. Anyway, please let me know what you guys think.


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